


It Runs in the Family

by abraxases



Category: Prototype (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross Lives AU, Found Family, Gen, HOW COULD I FORGET THE FOUND FAMILY TAG, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PARIAH!Cross AU, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29480832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abraxases/pseuds/abraxases
Summary: "They may not let me know what he is, but I can guess... what if Pariah is a perfect realization of all non-encoding regions in the genome?He may be the final purpose of all life on Earth."----------i have literally had this AU for months and i'm finally trying to make something coherent of it, so! this is basically an AU in which captain cross is PARIAH, elizabeth greene's son. for the sake of this, he survived the supreme hunter, thoug the how is for you to find out. that's honestly as much as i can say without giving too many spoilers, but! i hope you guys enjoy! this is actually the first fic in a two (potentially three) part series of prototype fics i plan on doing. :>
Relationships: Alex Mercer & Bradley Ragland, Alex Mercer & Dana Mercer, Alex Mercer & Karen Parker, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Robert Cross & Alex Mercer, Robert Cross & Bradley Ragland, Robert Cross & Dana Mercer, Robert Cross & Elizabeth Greene
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> small TW: implied pregnancy / childbirth at the very start of this chapter. there's absolutely nothing graphic because i don't feel comfortable writing that.
> 
> likewise, this first chapter is very much an introduction! stuff will get more intense as it goes on.

_[HOPE, 1969.]_

It was almost ironic. The last safe place for the disease ridden population was a hospital. 

Not that it could be called that anymore. Redlight had run its course over the building, just as it had the town’s inhabitants; it spread along the walls, the floor, the machinery like a spider’s web, embedding itself into every nook and cranny. It squirmed beneath their boots as they paced the operating room, dripped blood from creaking ceiling tiles. The stench of the pestilence in the air was only worsened as the soldiers at the doors tore the so-called ‘Walkers’ apart, their mangled and mutated bodies landing in heaps in the hallways. To say they were on limited time would have been an understatement. 

Later, he would scoff. The mission would have been impossible without him.

He pulled away from the girl, still heaving breaths and snarling nonsense on the operating table. The child, her child, squirmed in his arms, infant cries blocking out even the roar of gunfire on all sides. The Lieutenant held him up to the light, watching him writhe and kick at the air with bloodstained limbs. A smile pulled at the corner of his lips, pride swelling his chest. Not for the infant, of course--why would he care for the product of a disease?--but for himself. His success. The promotion in his near future. He turned to face his men.

“The mother and child are now military assets.” Randall forced the newborn into the arms of the closest unit, already tired of his insistent sobs. But that instance of annoyance, the half-second he spent letting down his guard, was one too many. Before he could react, the girl lunged with a bloodcurdling shriek. He threw up his arm as defense, and she sunk her teeth into it, tearing out a chunk of fabric and flesh.

It was over as quickly as it started. His men darted to his aid, and dragged the shrieking Runner as far from him as they could. But the damage had been done. Randall clutched his arm and staggered to the operating table, swears spilling from his mouth like blood did from the wound. His attention snapped to a cleaver, his own wide-eyed and furious face staring back at him from the silver. He grabbed it, slammed his wounded arm down on the table, and prayed.

The soldier with the bloody child in his arms didn’t wait for the results. Much like the rest of the Blackwatch units, he was on the move, tearing down the hallway as the child screeched bloody-fucking-murder in his arms. What they needed with it was a mystery--he’d rather the whole population go down in the nuclear hellfire that would soon greet Hope. As he stumbled outside, he passed the infant onto the next group, ignoring the way it clung to his uniform and continued to cry. 

The child dug its fingers into his chest. Piercing armor, piercing flesh, balling both up beneath tiny fists. It was no longer the one wailing. 

______________________

_[MANHATTAN, 2008.]_

In a hospital that couldn’t have been more different than the Redlight-ridden one of Hope, Robert Cross began to stir. Something that wouldn’t have been impressive, if not for the fact he was a dead man.

The cold metal of the slab dug into his bare skin, though he didn’t dare move--not with the muffled voices on either side of him. With the harsh ringing in his ears, he could only make out fragments of their conversation: “operation,” “stable,” “bullshit.” Nothing that made him particularly eager to stay. He opened one eye, only to be immediately blinded by a harsh surgical light. Fuck. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, and waited. One second. Two seconds. No response. They hadn’t noticed--good. He tried again, blinking until he could get something close to adjusted to the light. Dark spots danced across his vision, but in the moment, he couldn’t care less. It was enough for him to see the pair talking over him, and that was all he needed; lips to read, and people to identify.

“...Interrogating him would be useful. I’m not saying it wouldn’t be.” The first to speak made sense, considering his situation: a doctor, bloodied scrubs and all. He rested his hands on his hips, an expression Cross could only approximate to a disappointed father set on his face. “The issue would be earning his cooperation, and if we do that, making sure he doesn’t lie. He has no reason to work with us.” Recognition clicked a moment late, accompanied by a slight raise of his brows. Dr. Ragland. He’d seen photos of the man in some of the stolen files. Was he in St.Paul’s? 

“Then we’ll give him a fucking reason.” And if that was Ragland, he didn’t have to guess who the sharp voice on his opposite side belonged to. Dana Mercer stood with her arms crossed over her chest, lips set in a tight and frustrated frown. “He’s our only shot at finding Alex.”

Cross had heard enough. He sat up, and as anticipated, both Ragland and Dana staggered back in alarm. He would have laughed under a different circumstance. “Oh, please. Don’t tell me that you actually think you’ll find him like that. I thought you were the smart one?”

“Jesus-!” Dana hissed out a flood of swears, grabbing a scalpel off the nearest table and pointing it at him. To say she wasn’t happy with the snort he responded with would have been an understatement. “Very funny, asshole. You have any other jokes, or should I go ahead and shove this up your ass?”

Rather than discouraging the threat, Ragland went right along with it. “Even if you won’t lead us to him, I can guarantee you still have information we could use. You’re unarmed. It’d be in all of our interests if you cooperated.”

Cross rolled his eyes, but the gesture was nothing but stalling to think. Though neither of them had realized it, they were on the same side. Finding Mercer was as much in their interest as it was his; he needed to make sure the virus actually carried out the rest of his plan. He adjusted the blanket draped across his lower half (couldn’t even be assed to give him anything but boxers, could they), huffing through his nose. 

“Or, better yet, we could come to an agreement.” Both Ragland and Dana alike cast him suspicious looks. He could respect that, if nothing else; they clearly knew who their enemies were. “Answers for answers. I don’t exactly recall deciding to take a nap in a fucking morgue almost naked, so we will all benefit.” 

The duo shared a glance. With a short huff, Dana took the lead, taking a wary step closer. Her knuckles were white from her grip on the scalpel, and there was a slight tremor to her movements, but she was undoubtedly confident. “Fine. Us first. Who the fuck are you?”

“Rule one of interrogation. Actually know who the fuck you’re talking to.” When Dana looked five seconds from plunging the scalpel into his throat, he continued. “Captain Cross, Blackwatch operative. You’re Dana Mercer, and that’s Dr. Bradley Ragland.” 

He watched their faces for a moment, and some of the tension slipped him when there were no signs of recognition--beyond their defensive expressions when he revealed his affiliation. They didn’t know him, not as anything other than an annoyance. “My turn. Why am I in a goddamn morgue?”

Ragland took the next turn. “Dana found you unconscious in the parking lot, and your tattoo said you were Blackwatch.” He tapped the back of his neck as emphasis. “We brought you inside, tested you for infection. You came up negative for all strains, so we decided to keep you here.”

“My heroes.”

He raised a brow, but didn’t comment. “Alex had kept in regular contact with me, but abruptly ceased to do so a few days ago. Would you happen to have anything to do with this, Captain?”

That was enough to make him pause. As someone who had been contacting the bastard, the thought of him falling out of that routine was alarming. Chaotic as he was, he was always on time. “...No. What do you mean, he cut off contact?” Dana, clearly, had no idea about this tidbit of information. She leaned in close, her gaze flicking between both men as she took in every word.

“No phone calls, no visits, no indication as to where he might be. Compared to the fact he would call on the daily to check on Dana. He has been completely silent for roughly three days now--I haven’t even heard Blackwatch reports. And you know nothing about this?” 

Cross started to respond, but he was cut off by a grimace, something pricking at the back of his mind. It was difficult to place--an echo, a whisper: a longing, a hunger. He clenched his fists for a moment, shoving it back to wherever the hell it had come from. He had more important things to deal with, like the virus who had apparently vanished off the face of the Earth. Three days… how long had it been since he was last awake? He remembered the Hunter, the consuming, then… 

“Not a fucking clue.” He stood, taking a moment to roll his shoulders. The last of the bleariness that came from waking up faded, making way for the sharp mind and stoic exterior he’d need from here on out. “But considering the fact he’s the only one who can actually handle that shitshow outside, we need to figure out where the hell he is.” Catching the looks on their faces, he continued before they could interject. “My priority is getting this Outbreak under control, not killing him. However you feel about me, you can’t deny the fact we have a common goal.”

“...It seems we do.” Ragland sighed, moving his arms to rest across his chest. “What exactly do you plan on doing?” 

“Get my bearings. Dig into Blackwatch’s intel, see what they have on Mercer’s latest activity. From that, we should be able to pinpoint his location.”

“And then what?” Dana snapped, casting him an incredulous look. “Like you said, it’s a shitshow out there. We can’t exactly go for a fucking walk across town, and we won’t have a way to contact him.” 

“Correction. You can’t go for a stroll through a Red Zone. I can. I’m trained to handle these exact situations.” 

“Bold words coming from the guy in his underwear.” 

“I did say I’d get my bearings first.” Cross tucked his hands behind his back, looking between the both of them for a moment. “Any complaints? You said you wanted to find him, and I am your best shot--if not through a lousy interrogation attempt.” 

Ragland and Dana glanced to each other again; while they hadn’t known each other for long, in this moment, their ‘find Alex’ and ‘fuck Blackwatch’ attitudes made them family. The former regarded Cross for a moment longer, but finally nodded.

“We’re in a Blue Zone right now; there’s bound to be a base nearby. I’ll dig up some proper clothes for you, as well as something to defend yourself with. If you can get into the base, you should be able to get proper armor--and access to one of their terminals.” 

He raised a brow. “I don’t remember saying I’d take orders, doctor.” 

“They aren’t orders, but suggestions--so you don’t get yourself killed. Those of us who aren’t in Blackwatch are capable of thought, Captain. Shocking as that may seem.” Dana snickered. The doctor took it as his cue. He murmured a few quick words to her, before he headed out the door--gathering supplies, as he suggested. 

With Ragland gone, though, so were her inhibitions. She shoved the scalpel in Cross’ face, making sure he could see as she brought it to his throat. Her posture wasn’t anything akin to a killer’s, but she wanted to make a point. “If anything happens to my brother, fuckhead, that’s on you. Don’t think either of us are scared of your Blackwatch bullshit.”

Cross remained completely deadpan, even as he plucked the scalpel right out of her hands. She yelped, stumbled back a few unsteady steps, then flipped him off with both hands. When all he did was chuckle, she relented; with a harsh glare, she turned to follow after Ragland. Soon enough, Cross was the only one left in the room, shaking his head.

“You sure know how to pick them, Mercer.” As he stood there, though, the pricking feeling in the back of his mind returned. It remained vague, like a faded memory calling out, but it was prominent enough to bother him. A hunger, a longing, a loneliness he couldn’t describe, the barest echoes of a song he never remembered singing. Again, he forced it down, shaking his head to clear it. 

He knew what it was. He’d been in Blackwatch for ten years; he’d researched it extensively, taken in every single detail. But it both made sense, and didn’t.

After all--how could someone who wasn’t infected connect to the Hivemind?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize in advance, i swear cross can make coherent plans. i just cannot.

[ _VANDENBERG, 1971._ ]

“What do you mean, it’s connected to her Hivemind?” 

Though he’d hardly admit it, fear permeated Randall’s mind just as much as frustration did. MOTHER--the child’s mother, the mother of the virus--had been easy enough to deal with. She was rotting in a cell, locked up tight in Fort Detrick. According to Blackwatch’s researchers, her state was akin to brain death. Unresponsive, unmoving. 

The same could not be said for her child. PARIAH wandered the containment with unsteady, haphazard steps, dragging its hand against the wall and babbling nonsense. He, however, was not a fool. Where a less trained man would have seen a bumbling toddler, Randall saw the strange, dark red matter (not viral, the boy wasn’t infected, but something else entirely) spreading wildly under the child’s palm. It snaked across the barren wall, embedding itself into every corner and crevice, aiding PARIAH as it took step after step. His stomach twisted with disgust, and a hand settled on the gun holstered at his side. 

“It does seem unlikely, yes,” the scientist finally said, wringing his hands and watching PARIAH’s movements just the same. “But PARIAH… despite his isolation, as per your orders, he behaves as if he’s still receiving maternal contact. Like he can sense her presence, in a way.” 

“ _It._ Not he.” Randall sternly corrected. “That’s a massive claim, doctor. What evidence do you have that supports that theory?”

The scientist gestured curtly to the waddling toddler. “He- erm, it’s learning, for one. A child shouldn’t be able to speak when totally isolated, much less learn to walk--and infect. Even if it picked up the first two from the researchers, it’s impossible for that to be the case for the latter. Furthermore, that has to be a learned behavior. It didn’t infect anyone as an infant.”

By now, PARIAH had taken a seat by the wall, gnawing on its hand and staring at the observation window. It couldn’t have seen anything, not past the one-way glass, but the sheer intensity of the child’s gaze was unnerving to both observers. 

“What do you propose, then?” The soldier continued. “If the two of them are still connected, especially over such a great distance, it would be nothing short of catastrophic when he finally acts.”

“We cut him off. Completely sever their connection.” 

“How? We don’t even know how it works in Infected, much less whatever the hell--”

Abruptly, PARIAH giggled. Both men staggered away from the window in alarm, both of their attentions snapping right to the child. It had begun spreading its mass across the floor, watching with glee as it coated everything it touched. Randall clenched his fists, casting the researcher a dark look.

“Separate them. I don’t care what it takes.”

______________________

[ _MANHATTAN, 2008._ ]

Within an hour, supplies had been gathered, and a plan was in motion. Cross, now dressed in a tight sweater, jeans, and boots, made his way out of the hospital and into a crowd of nearby civilians. The streets were crawling with Marines, their tan uniforms standing out harshly against the variety of colors worn by the civilians. They weren’t anything close to threatening. They weren’t paying enough attention to their surroundings, the grips on their weapons were off by a fraction, their uniforms weren’t properly maintained… on and on and on went his mental list of flaws. 

All things considered, the flaws worked in his favor. He was following Ragland’s plan, if begrudgingly--and the outposts throughout Manhattan were maintained predominantly by Marines. If they were this incompotent on the streets? Cross could probably waltz right into their base, and they wouldn’t bat an eye. He snorted at the thought. 

Plan making was far better than the Hivemind, ever-persistent now that he’d noticed it. The messages remained similar ( _alone, trapped, lonely, prison_ ), nonsense strings of words he didn’t care to dwell on. He shoved it down every time it tried to rear its ugly head, a beast he’d conquer when he wasn’t working.

Across the street, a group of Marines had gathered, chatting amongst themselves. There was his chance. He pushed past the remaining pedestrians, easily making his way to the group. He kept his distance, trailing them from afar; someone of his size and stature couldn't possibly get closer without being noticed. Get in the base, get weapons, access a terminal, leave. The back door was his best shot, a way to slip in where he could at least toss a uniform on and call himself one of them. 

Or, he could reveal himself to Blackwatch, and return to them. He pushed the thought aside, but he would have been lying if he said the idea wasn't there.

The captain stopped trailing the group the moment the base was in sight. It was standard by all accounts: a concrete barrier surrounding a repurposed storage building, illuminated by floodlights and populated by bustling Marines, viral detectors, ammunition. They had their ammunition crates sitting in plain sight. Did they want Mercer to come in and start blowing the shit out of them? He rolled his eyes. On the situation at hand, though. The back door was still his best shot, but it'd be undoubtedly guard. He'd need to create some kind of distraction, but what? A false call about Mercer if he could get a radio, maybe, or teaching them to not leave explosives out. As the gears in his mind turned, he opted to slip into the nearest alleyway. 

At least, that had been his intention. He backed right into someone else, although they didn't so much as brush him before he whipped around. He gripped their collar and slammed them into the alley wall, more than ready to go for the kill ( _company, evolve, kill, Hope, perfect, perfect her_ )--until recognition hit. 

"--What the fuck are you doing here?!" He hissed through his teeth, releasing his grip on Dana with a hint of reluctance. She was unsteady on her feet, the wind knocked out of her by the attack, but that didn't stop her from meeting his glare with one just as sharp. 

"Making sure the- local… Blackwatch soldier isn't fucking… turning us in." She took a deep breath and backed away, adjusting the hood of her coat. Her usual attire had been exchanged for something more like her brother's, a warm black coat that was too large for her and proper jeans accompanied by her red converse. "We have no reason to trust you."

"I'm well aware." Cross shifted his jaw, taking a moment to restrain the abrupt surge of anger. “That doesn’t change the fact you’re as much of a criminal as your brother. If you’d been spotted, you would have jeopardized this entire operation.” 

“That’s why I haven’t been spotted, smartass.” Despite her taunting remarks, her expression quickly shifted to something more serious. Dana leaned against the wall, the shadow of her hood obscuring her face as she thought. “...How are you supposed to get in there? There’s Marines at every corner.”

“With the incredible power of ‘mind your fucking business.’ You should try it sometime.”

The glare the comment earned made him snort. 

“Could you stop being a dick for five seconds? I’m trying to help.” She sighed, brushing a few strands of hair from her face--but continued. “They’re using an old storage building I’ve been in before, so I know the layout pretty well. And I’ve been keeping an eye on their patrols. They’re getting close to switching people out, so--”

“--So the current guards are going to be half-assing their work, knowing their break is coming up soon.” Cross finished, raising a brow. In all honesty, he was impressed. It was clear who the brains behind Mercer’s work was. “I already knew all of that. You can tell from their movements. Sluggish, lazy, far from optimal. I’ll give you credit for effort. Maybe.”

“Gee, thanks.” Said with as little gratitude as possible. Still, she paused, her tone shifting to something much more genuine. “Just... be careful in there, okay? You’re an asshole, but you’re still our best shot at finding Alex.”

She cared about Mercer; that much was obvious. He wondered if she knew the truth, and how much it would break her when she found out. He finished the conversation with little more than a short nod, and started off down the sidewalk again. That was her problem, not his--if Manhattan had taught him anything, it was that worrying about others was a fucking death wish.

Cross moved with the crowd, his civilian attire making even his build and white-streaked hair seem perfectly natural--to anyone who wasn’t Blackwatch. He kept a stern eye on their base, charting patrol paths and entrances in his head. There was an odd sort of nostalgia to it--he hadn’t done a stealth-based operation in ages, the last being some time before he became “The Specialist”. As the group he’d chosen to follow moved towards the base (another flaw, were they just asking for Mercer to sneak in?), he finally broke off, slipping between the metal barricade and the brick wall of a nearby building. 

The barbed wire lining the barricade wasn’t electrified--he knew the defenses well, they’d been placed around Red Crown as well--and that was all he needed. He moved against it, and jumped, just high enough to grip the top with his prosthetic arm. The barbed wire bent easily beneath his grip, and he dropped down again, tearing the section off entirely. It wasn’t subtle by any means, but by the time they noticed, he’d be long gone. The gesture was repeated, this time with him gripping the wire-free spot with his organic hand and another barbed section with his prosthetic. He hoisted himself up, just enough to see the other side. 

Most of the Marines were stationed in the front; predictable, considering Mercer’s tendency to charge in guns blazing. A single Marine stayed at the back, his build as close to Cross’ as the man could possibly hope to get. The man yawned, rolling his shoulders and shifting on his heels. Waiting for dismissal. 

Perfect. Smothering and tossing some more of the wire, the captain hauled himself the rest of the way over the barricade, dropping down as quietly as he could. The Marine didn’t catch so much of a glimpse of him before he lunged, snapping the man’s neck with one quick movement ( _change, weak, death, destroy, unworthy_ ). He caught the body before he hit the ground, carrying it against the wall of the base to obscure them both. 

Yet another change of attire. The uniform was far more comfortable, if somewhat short; at least he didn’t feel like he was running around clothesless from the lack of armor. His own clothes had been stuck on the body, and after a moment of contemplation, he tossed it heavily over the barricade. The distraction. 

Well-timed, too. As a group started to move to investigate the sound, the door to the base opened. He gave his replacement on the patrol a quick nod, and slipped inside the open door before they could get a proper look at him.

The base was… terribly organized. An open area, littered with ammunition, explosives, and crowds that Mercer could easily blend into. The Marines moved randomly, seemingly without proper organization, and he had to fight the urge to drag his hand down his now-masked face. No fucking wonder Manhattan was nearly destroyed. These were Blackwatch’s scapegoats? Actual goats would have done a better job. He sighed through his nose, but moved further into the base, keeping as far from prying eyes as he could accomplish.

Taking out the guard had given him weapons, various combat knives and a pistol, though he did grab a grenade launcher off the weapons rack as insurance. The difficult part was Blackwatch. A quick glance was all he needed to spot the competent soldiers, their black and gray uniforms burned into his mind by now. Getting a radio off one of them was going to be a pain in the ass. Not impossible by any accounts, but--

Once again, his train of thought was cut off by someone else. This time, a Marine had rounded the corner and rammed into him while his attention was on the soldiers. 

But something was different. He staggered back, but the Marine’s complaints were muffled by a sudden uproar in his head, a tidal wave of relief and joy crashing down on him. 

( _FAMILY._ )

The man was infected--a carrier. He grit his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his gun. Trying his damnedest to find himself past the flood of the Hivemind. ( _Family, company, not alone, mama, evolve, perfect!_ ) He forced it down with the same techniques he’d learned in training, muffling the desperate screams in his head until he could finally hear himself think. It made sense that a carrier would trigger it, but he loathed to think what would have happened if he’d encounter a Hunter. A Runner.

Cross opened his eyes. The Marine was staring at him. Not at him--at his gun, the barrel of his own trained right on him. He didn’t even have to glance down to guess why; he could feel it, the chill of gun’s metal beyond where he gripped it. Even with his carefully maintained deadpan, he still paled.

Redlight webs, twisting and writhing, crept across the surface of the weapon and up his prosthetic, moving out from his organic hand to embed themselves in every crevice. And he felt every twitch of them, as if they were a piece of him--because they were. 

(He wasn’t infected. This shouldn’t have been happening. This should not have been happening.)

Cross exhaled heavily, closed his eyes again, and muttered the first thing that came to mind.

“Fuck.”


End file.
